


t!H||^^H 



SONGS 

JAM'ES VI I, A Rr:AICF 





Class ^S./^^^l^ 
Book ' ^RS^ 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



SONGS 



/ 



James Vila Blakk 






1902: 

JAMES H. WEST CO. 

BOSTON. 



THf Library of 

CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

iUL: 18 1902 

COPVUKJHT ENTRY 



W*- 



CV.ASSC^XXa No, 
COPY 8. 



Copj- right 
B\- James Vila Blake 

1902 



FOREWORD. 

Songs are a species of -poesy, as much as the 
sonnet /s, or the elegy, or the pastoral, or any other 
form. Therefore it may be not inisnitahle to col- 
lect songs apart by themselves, the more as the 
unity attained tieed not be marred by monotoiiy ; 
for there is no kind of poesy eyyibracing naturally 
a greater variety of verse. The iyididgence of the 
reader is asked for the notes zvhich zvill be found 
under many of these songs. — an unusjial feature, 
but it is hoped tiot an umisefid 07ie. I have no 
names for the songs, nor for ma^iy of theyn could 
I devise titles; this lack I ztnsh to supply in some 
instances by means of notes ^ that the explanatory 
office often carried in a title may not be zvayiting . 
For a song unhomed from the purpose or occasion 
of it, ?nay be like a foreigner, speaking to us, yet 
conveying nothing. Also sometimes a note is used 
to state the metrical intention of a song. For all 
poetry, and perhaps especially song, is zvritten to 
be perforined, I ynean, read aloud; and if unvoiced, 
is little less dead than music lying in an unplayed 
or unsung score. .And as it is no fault in a sonata 
of Mozart that an unskilled player makes but a 
coyifusion of it, so it is 7io ill in a poem if it be diffi- 
cult of performance, I mean, reqtiire yiice supple- 
ness of lUterance or delicate intonation, and in a 
bungling delivery zvill halt or seem unbalanced or 
incoherent. Hence / have set dovun the ynetrical 
movement of the songs zvhen this has seemed ?ieed- 
ful or helpful for the voicing of them. 

Chicago, fune, 1Q02. f. V. B. 



this book is offered to 
Clara Amelia Hughes 



OF THE CITY OF SEATTLE, 
STATE OF WASHINGTON. 



Dear Friend, whom never I with eyes have seen, 
Sweet imag-eless iraag-e, soft unlooked-on look 
That peerest from fancy, like a flower from g-reen, 
Small offering- for thy offices, this book. 
O, how may I thy constancies requite, 
Or, turning- to thee, so thy g-race return? 
Or how with soul enlarg-ed g-ain larger sig-ht — 
Discerning beauty, thy beauty more discern? 
If but poor inward, and no outward, seeing 
Hath made in me thy place majestical, 
O, how much less the pen, from words unfreeing. 
Can close thee up in titles temporal! 

Yet this I say, — My friend so richly friend, 
Of ending time makes stuff that hath no end. 

Jambs Vila Klake. 
June, 1902. 



SONGS. 



J- 



LIFE seemeth all one song: 
If joyed, 'tis song; 
If sad, still it doth belong 
To the one calendar of song. 

Life seemeth all one time : 
If old, much time ; 
If young, 'tis but at the prime 
O' the one eternity of time. 

Life seemeth all one love : 

If thronged, full love ; 

If lone, still it hath above 

The solitude heart's own sweet love. 



IN the morning let me face the east \ 
There sits the light : 
All morn, mid-morn, noon, after-day, forsooth, 
Are in that dawn : Ay. let me face my youth. 
Where birds wake up and bees and blossoms feast 
On honeys bright. 

In the evening let me face the west ! 
There sits the light : 

Eve. mid-night, moon, stars, and new days, en- 
gage 
In that red sky : Ay, let me face my age. 
Where shades tent nightingales ; and for the rest, 
The sky is bright. 

This went in a letter to a friend, with the follow- 
ing note of the occasion of it: " Last evening on 
turning suddenly to the west I saw a splendid intense 
red sky, low on the horizon, so fiery and glowing that 
it suffused and made red the smoke and steam from 
factory vents near by. Whereupon I said this " 



ANNOUNCING morn the gentle murniurs run, 
And suddenly fill the pale pearl sky: 
Now hark! Tell nie if you can — Comes far the 

sigh ? — 
From earth? From air? From sun? 

One moment 'tis not heard in hill or plain, — 

Then mystical falleth sheer, sweet, lone : 

Nay. speak — canst not tell me pat — Whence pours 

the tone ? — 
From cloud — the mist — the rain? 

It scemeth like a silence sudden heard. 
And happily loosed in low fond voice : 
And O ! breaketh not thy heart ? Sole dost re- 
joice ? 
Is glad — or sad — the word ? 

O forward halloo of the day to earth, 

That audibly backward holds fond Night ! 

The awed marvel of the voice — tone still as 

light— 
A death — a breath — a birth ! 



A song of that strange rustle or murmur that over- 
runs the earth just before the first faint dawn, or with 
it. The metrical intention is as follows; 



rif t\j t|r r|r rir 
t|r^|r c|r^|'- c|r || 



10 



Now tell me which arriveth first, — 
Birds or the Spring : 
When warm days come, a-whir, a-burst, 
And birds a-wing. 
Which doth appear 
Waiting the other here ? 

Now tell me which doth first arrive, — 

Spring or the bird : 
Which from the other doth derive 

Voice to be heard, 

Light to be seen 

Flying the clouds between ? 

Perhaps not one but both have spurred 

The time, together ; 
No bird no Spring, no Spring no bird, 

Whate'er the weather ; 

But by the two 

Sparkles the world in view. 

Wilt thou wait this, or this wait thee? 

What matter so, 
If thy heart and this song o' me 

Together glow? — 

As bird in tree 

And Spring unseparate be ! 

Sent in a letter to my daughter Rl., traveling swiftly 
from place to place, so that I could not be sure always 
whether letters would await her or she would wait the 
mail. 



11 



IF I could sing thee right and well, 
My true-loved one, 
Such music to the night I'd tell 
As on the days should cast a spell 

Till life were done : 
But heigho, and heigho ! I can not : 
And heigho, and heigho ! 

If I aright could love thee, dear, 

My own of heart, 
My song would be so sweet and clear 
That seraphs would stop harps to hear, 

And learn my art : 
But heigho. and heigho ! I can not : 

And heigho, and heigho ! 

But if afar I lowly pray. 

And aim above, 
I yet may learn — Ah, well-a-day ! — 
More like to thee, in better way 

My love to love : 
And heigho, and heigho ! so can I : 
And heigho, and heigho ! so will I. 



All collections of songs must contain many love 
songs. Alv,'ays it has been so, and we must hope ever- 
more will be. Nothing else could bear to be the whole 
matter of a collection, except religion; and it is no little 
significant that the Welsh bards inhabit a domain of 
two subjects, religion and love. If only two subjects 
must be the main matter of a poetic literature, those 
two are the subjects for the health of the literature. 
Either of them may be wholly the substance of a large 



IF but I think of thee. 
My thoughts do sing ; 
And if to thee I go. 
My feet do spring 
In fiying measures : 
For joy of love, whate'er I do doth bring 

Me stately pleasures : 
Sweet love, I pray thee know 
'Tis so, and even so. 



assembly of songs, as love is in Shakespeare's sonnets. 
" Why," says he, Sonnet Ixxvi, 

" Why is my verse so barren of new pride, 
So far from variation or quick change?" 

Yet the centuries still read it, linger over it, tire 
not, 

" For as the sun is daily new and old. 
So is my love still telling what is told." 

But not Shakespeare himself, nor even Wordsworth, 
that devout " high priest of Nature," could sing vari- 
ously beautifully of landscape features, however fair or 
grand, through a hundred and fifty sonnets or other 
lyrics; nor can any contexts of meadows, groves, hills, 
streams and skies so thrill and suffice us one after an- 
other as persons can. There is no so serious and rich 
source of the dignity and joy of human life as love, 
there is no beauty so exalted as the eloquence, sacrifices 
and devotions of love, and " there are no tragedies like 
the love tragedies." Therefore love is mingled deeply, 
nay, elementally, with all story, all drama, and all song. 
A dignified, high-souled woman, sitting beside me at 
" Romeo and Juliet," turned to me with an awed face 
and said, " What a passion it is, O, what a passion it is!" 
Therefore very momentous to the world, perhaps nothing 
more momentous, is the question of what kind its love 
stories, love dramas and love songs are. This is so large 
a svibject that a note can do no more than say it is 
a subject; and indeed volumes might be written on it, 
and all literature gleaned to illustrate it, very whole- 
somely for the world. Often I have thought that a 
long and careful essay on the W^orld's Love Songs could 
be made instructive and salutary every way. Suffice it 



13 

Yet often I am sad : 

Dear love, for why ? 
In sooth love is a pain ; 

Fearful am I 

In sorry measures 
That something in me will not please — so end 

My princely pleasures : 
Sweet love, I pray thee know 
'Tis so, and even so. 



now to say this, which is the purpose of this note, that 
love should be a bloom of health, and love songs should 
be robust, whether sung by men or by women. Play- 
fulness is a part of robustness. Therefore it were not 
healthful to exclude gentle mirth and happy frolics from 
love songs, but the jocund moods should be reverential 
and gold-shot with that pathos which links with humor. 
There are three kinds of songs of love that my soul 
detests. One is what may be called the song of the 
winking eye — hateful — I will say no more of it. An- 
other is the song of prettinesses, lustrous hair, shining 
eyes, ruby mouth, white arms et id onine genus; the 
which may serve for a veiled touch or vanishing sparkle 
immersed in a nobler strain, but for more than a touch 
is too unprivate and lacks spiritual respectfulness; nor 
can I conceive what business glorious love can have with 
the skin-complexion of a cheek, which carries little 
part, or no part, in that high beauty and love beauty 
that flashes from a face. The other to-me-most-uiiwel- 
come manner of love song, is sick verse, if so I may 
speak, — lines wherein the singer sickens, faints, 
languishes, falls, swoons, dies with love. For example 
take Shelley's Serenade, 

*' 1 arise from dreams of thee 
In the first sweet sleep of night," 
a song of the most delicate and exquisite charm, until 
we come to the unmanly feebleness of the conclusion, 
v.iierein the poet avers he must die on her heart, even 
now " dies " and " faints " and " fails," says his " cheek 
is cold and white, alas!" and his " lips and eyelids 
pale," and entreats to be " lifted from the grass " to her 
heart, where his own " will break at last." If love be 
not a fastness of the spirit, a robustness of soul, but 
indeed can bring the mind to that pass of flabby 



14 

But whether sad or joyed, 

It is the same. 
That always heart doth sing 

Thy dearest name 

In loving measures, 
By which as on an altar in me flame 

My votive pleasures : 
Sweet love, I pray thee know 
'Tis so, and even so. 



sprawling, why must it not be classed with " the falling 
sickness" or beggarly perversions? But hail to the 
love song which is strong of mind and strongly tender 
of heart, nay, devoutly impassioned. Let no one think 
he does ill for his kind, or idles, while he sings one. 



15 

LOVE, give me more: 
My heart it is so sore 
Hardly I know to live : 
More canst tlioii not give? — 
Thy heart is rich I wot ! 
Nay, Love, frown not — 
I am content, ah ! content. 

Love, I seek my more 
The wide world o'er 
From other none, nor speak 
What more I from thee seek 
Alone, for my lone lot : 

Nay, Love, turn not, frown not — 
I am content, ah ! content. 

Love, I pray for more 
Mayhap because I bore 
Heart's worst when thou away 
Didst speed, and more I pray 
Alone on the void spot : 

Nay, Love, sigh not, turn not, frown not, — 
I am content, ah ! content. 

But O ! I ask for more 
Because all thy whole store 
I'd have, and try the task 
To win what more I ask. 
By deeds not soon forgot : 

Nay, Love, fret not, sigh not, turn not, frown 
not — 

I am content, ah ! content. 



16 



UISl VEILING morn, when clouds are torn. 
I think more flushing sweet than anything: 
Anon eftsoon the golden noon 
Of all the lights I call the king. 

When evening fair lets loose her hair. 
That rippling splendor lovely most I deem : 
Then mid-night bars unlocked with stars 
Open where larger glories beam. 

If best that be which is with me, 

And each in turn appear most fairest bright, 

Then sure my song is all-time long, 

And one to me is day or night. 

If this be true in thy heart's view. 

And thou be fond with it. my dearest own, 

Then all the rays of nights and days 

Be double sweet that sweet were lone. 



17 



COMES song like flame, 
And the whole of my being is swift 
Comes song like wings, 
And the whole of my being is lift ; 
Tell me what pains, or hard or long, 
But fly with song ! 

Sometimes 1 'm sad. 

And I know not what maketh my dole ; 

Or dull withal, 

And I know not what aileth my soul : 

Presto ! the plaints avoid my lay, 

As bats fly day. 

Face prone I walk. 

And do burrow with eyes in the sod ; 

I 'm up-end down. 

And do burrow with snout where I trod ; 

Lo ! I am whirled head up each time, 

By one sweet rhyme. 

Avaunt, ye fools ! 

To a fit of the sullens and all 

I 'm void of bond ; 

And if fit of the sullens befall. 

Quicker than light a songful sense 

Expels it hence : 

Ay ! ay ! far hence ! 



18 



IF a bird float by me, 
Let me think 
Fine it were to fly me. 
Rise and sink 

On such pinions over height and brink, — 
And then be glad that such a creature hath come 
nigh me. 

If a water-sprinkle 
Eye and ear 

Fills with flash and twinkle. 
See and hear 

How 'twere fine to look and sound so clear, 
And then be very glad the rain doth whir and 
tinkle. 

If a mist doth bound me, 
Covers hills 

And on mead around me 
Softly spills. 

How such grace were fine my spirit thrills, — 
But then let me rejoice the tender vapor found 
me. 



I was whirling along, half on road, half in air, when 
suddenly a bird cut the air so close over me that 
almost it saluted ears first, and then the shadow of it 
on the smooth road rushed by and was gone more like 
a winged ray than a spot of shade. Then was said this 
song, springing from a momentary wish that, like that 
bird, I might he a free-born of the city of the air. 



19 

God ! wliat in my seeing 
Is the best. 

That 'twere in my being 
Built and prest 

Let me wish, but let me wish with rest, 
My soul the while with them rejoicing and agree- 
ing. 



20 



NOW tell me if in all the earth 
There be a flower more beautiful, 
More exquisite. 
More praises-fit, 
More plentiful 
In every lovely grace 
That can endue and fill its little space with worth. 



So tender-blue and modest 'tis, 
So simple and so temperate, — 

No coy distress, 

Yet forward less, — 

So sweet frank state 

That never man can sigh 
For fairer thing when looks that fringed eye to 



his. 



The Fringed Gentian. Who can forget it who ever 
has come on it suddenly in its sequestered habitation and 
gathered it reverently? Many memories of it move 
this song in me, now that I see it but little, being 
removed from its more favored dwelling-places, though 
it is but half-plentiful anywhere. Belike I otight to ask 
pardon of the memory of Bryant, or, knowing it would 
be granted, yet touch with fear, as indeed I do, what 
he hath robed in his sweet-austere verse. But let my 
plea be my agitation when I too see that 
" Sweet and quiet eye 

Look through its fringes to the sky." 



21 

It bloometh when the months are late, 
When other sweets are fugitive, 

Or when the yellow 

Of fields all mellow 

A glow doth give 

That frights that tender hue 
Till curling fringe conceals the sweet-eyed blue 
sedate. 

How dear the angled goblet seems 
Of calix-cup's pale verdancy, 

What creature-look 

Each feature took, 

Whose modesty 

Met the all-charmed light 
As if the lashes opened unto sight from dreams! 

I love the beautiful sweet being: 
My heart is full and innocent. 

All rapturous. 

Impetuous 

And opulent, 

When I make trembling-bold 
To gather that dear soul for closer hold and 
seeing. 



22 



SOMETIMES I say, 
Heart, love her not so dearly, 
Lest she do slip from thee away, 
And thou be left full drearly. 
For O, for O, life seemeth so, 
And where we would not we must go. 
What most we would not we must meet : 
Is 't not so, Sweet ? 

But yet I cry. 

What could be sadder losing 

Than if my love had not come nigh, 

Nor bound her with my choosing? 

For O, for O. 'twere saddest so ; 

Then how I would not I should go. 

What most I would not I should meet : 

Is 't not so. Sweet? 

But joyed be heart. 
That I would see her never. 
Rather than know least love depart 
And have her with me ever ! 



To daughter Rh., when she was going away. Al- 
ways, I am very sure, whatever one lose, or however 
much, there is that left him, in heart or out, or both, 
which he would choose before all the world beside, and 
far before all that hath disappeared from him for a 
season, or for life's season. Tliis is the matter of my 
song. It is reason for perpetual rejoicing. For if one 
have what he would choose first, 'tis but surly greedi- 
ness to ask passionately or sullenly for more. 



23 

For O, for O. life 's gladdest so ; 
Whither I would most, thither I go, 
And what I would most, that I meet 
Is 't not so, Sweet? 

Ah yes ! I 've had 
Life very glad : 
Is • t not so. Sweet ? 
Dear Sweet ! 



24 



IF I could sing thee a sweet song, 
And put my arms around thee, 
And bid the song resound thee. 
And with my arms could bound thee, 
O, happy were I all day long — 

Yea, yea, I were, and blissfully, 
That but a moment so my arms had found thee : 
Ah me ! Ah me ! O, and heigho ! 
My love, my sweet, my dearie. 



May I recur in a note here to what I have said in 
the Foreword touching the need and the frequent diffi- 
culty of " lending to the rhyme of the poet the music 
of the voice." Words being sound, they have an ad- 
vantage over simple music-tones, and a remarkable one, 
namely, that they have at once an audible beauty and a 
logical circumscription, a charm to the ear, a strict limit 
to the mind. Whence they are not quite so dead in a 
silent page as music is in an unplayed score, becavise 
their precision attains to the mind by the eye, however 
their lovely vocalities miss the ear; so that what the 
poet has to say may charm thought or fancy while his 
beautiful audibilities remain unloosed. Yet, as I have 
said, this is but a limping progress, and all fine elo- 
quence, especially poesy, and perhaps songs the most, 
ought to be graced with all the double quality of words, 
their admirable limits for the mind and sounds for the 
ear. If the right reading of verse be not always easy, 
this is true also of beautiful prose. For example, to 
read Charles Lamb well is difficult; yet how gracious 
he is witn good reading, how worthy of a vocal victory 
over him. What difficulty there may be in reading this 
song lies in the refrain. There are happy sighs as well 
as sad. This should be read robustly and cheerily, with 
the proper wave of the voice and with an upward vanish. 



25 

If I could bring thee a sweet lay. 
And with my love caress thee, 
And with my love could bless thee, 
And to my heart could press thee, 

O, happy were I all the day — 
Yea, yea, I were, and blissfully. 

That but a moment so I did address thee : 

Ah me ! Ah me ! O, and heigho ! 

My love, my sweet, my dearie. 

If I could woo thy tender " Yes," 

With meekness when I face thee, 

And blissfully embrace thee. 

And thou wouldst say 't did grace thee, 
O, happy should I then confess. 

Yea, yea, I were, and blissfully, 
That in my honor and my love did place thee 
Ah me ! Ah me ! O, and heigho ! 

My love, my sweet, my dearie. 

If many fond and faithtul years 

I, wed to thee, might woo thee, 

And every kindness do thee. 

And with my care pursue thee, 
O, happy were I with no fears, 

Yea, yea, I were, and blissfully. 
That every hour might worshipfully view thee 
Ah me ! Ah me ! O, and heigho ! 

My love, my sweet, my dearie. 



26 



I DO defy ye, crabbed age ! 
I 've seen ye. ne'er did feel ye : 
Go. for another turn a page ; 
But I, a flip I deal ye. 
Where'er I go, 'tis antic youth I bring, 
No matter what I do, 'tis then I sing — Hillo and 
nonny, 

Hillo, hillo. and tra la la, 
Hillo. hillo, my bonny. 

1 've seen ye catch a-many legs, 
I can not e'en deny ye, 

And make them worse than wooden pegs ; 
My nimble limbs belie ye : 
Where'er I go, 'tis prancing feet I bring. 
And what I skip to do, 'tis so I sing — Hillo and 
nonny, 

Hillo, hillo, and tra la la, 

Hillo, hillo, my bonny. 

I 've seen ye get into a head. 
And make it dull or cranky ; 
But not with me so have ye sped. 
And ye may try and thank 'e : 
Where'er I go, 'tis tricksy wits I bring. 
And if some wit 's to do, 'tis then I sing — Hillo 
and nonny, 

Hillo, hillo, and tra la la, 

Hillo. hillo, my bonny. 



27 

I 've seen 3^e get into a heart, 
And make it sick and peevish ; 
But try yonr all, ye get no part 
In mine, ye minion thievish : 
For where I go, a hearty heart I bring. 
If there be joys to do, 'tis I can sing — Hillo and 
nonny, 

Hillo, hillo, and tra la la, 
Hillo, hillo, my bonny. 

My love, my bonny, tell me now, 
Didst ever know us aged. 
Or count what years upon the brow 
Had made us cynic-saged ? 
Where'er we go, 'tis April's self we bring, 
Give this or that to do, 'tis then we sing — Hillo 
and nonny, 

Hillo, hillo. and tra la la, 

Hillo, hillo, my bonny. 

Come, I will kiss thee here and here. 
Thou sunny side of twenty. 
And tumble up our youth, my dear, 
With follies wise and plenty : 
Where'er I go, 'tis love and love I bring, — 
If wooing is to do, 'tis I can sing — Hillo and 
nonny, 

Hillo. hillo, and tra la la, 

Hillo, hillo, my bonny. 



28 



MY dear, my dear, mine ever dear, 
My dearest dear, and eke my dear, 
I would my voice were archetype 
Of the most sweetest organ pipe, 
To sing thee ! 

To sing, to sing! And I would sing. 
With singing sing, and eke would sing. 
For joy that thou art like a star, 
And that my soul must go so far 
To bring thee. 

If here, if here, if thou wert here. 
All only here, and eke but here. 
Then precious were this only scene, 
And all the earth beside, I ween, 
Drear drearest : 

But far. thou 'rt far. thou 'rt very far. 
So farthest far, and eke so far. 
That love doth all the distance roam, 
And all the round earth is my home. 
Dear dearest. 



29 



OUT of sunny hill-top 
Runs a little rill-drop. 
Meetly, nimbly, blithely, featly. 
Brimming with a sky-light. 
Sober with a shade-sight. 
Vale-beam, moor-beam, cloud-beam, star 

So a little tear-drop 
Runneth from a life-top. 
Sweetly, softly, fondly, fleetly — 
Hath a loving eye-light. 
Sober with a heart-sight 
Round it, o'er it, near it, far. 



In double or two-four time, and requiring a rythmic 
stress on the strong beats of the third and sixth lines, 
thus — 



tccc|r HI 



r Nt [ilr t-^ r i 



r Mr Mr Mr ^ 



30 



ONLY I wish to sing: 
I have no thoughts I burn to verse, 
Nor fivish of fancy to rehearse : 
I only wish to bring 
My thankfnhiess, and sing. 

'Tis for sweet general joy: 

No novel reason can I find. 

Nor pleasures zoned unto my mind : 

I wish but to employ 

The common tone, for joy. 

'Tis dearer throb by far, 
The bliss of common thankfulness 
For pleasures all that all do bless — 
Dearer than for some star 
Lighting but me, by far. 



31 



SAID lie, said he. Be my darling. 
Be my love and married and all ; 
Said she, said she, We 'd be quar'ling. 
Sad and mad and harried and all. 

Said he, said he, Ah ! my beauty, 
Vow we will be cheery and all ; 
Said she, said she. Love 's not duty. 
Vows by time grow weary and all. 

Said he. said he. Come for loving. 
Soft and sweet and merry and all ; 
Said she, said she, Coos and dove-ing 
Sure are tricksy, very, and all. 

Said he, said he. Risk me, take me. 
Ah ! for me ! — to cherish and all ; 
Said she, said she. That doth make me, — 
All for thee I 'd perish and all. 

The following is the metrical intention of this song: 






This is in the triple time, which is almost universal 
in English verse, and germane to the language. See 
Sidney Lanier's Science of English Verse on this point, 
which is replete with interest and consequence. But 
this song begins on the first, or strong, beat of the 
measure, as what is called Trochaic rhythm does, tliough 
this song is far from running in that rhythm. 



32 



WHEN with matutinal pleasure I betake 
me out in light, 
And the birds sing loud, trees wave, brooks flow, 
An eterne Love, all-deep, still, grave, slow. 
Is a-traversing the mead with me, encompassing 
my sight. 

For if dexter be my looking or if forwardly I 

range. 
If behind turn I, look long, fare far, 
Or I gaze far high where burns morn's star, 
Or if sinister ni}' looking be, and visionary, 

strange — 

This is in double time, or two-four measure, very 
rare in English verse, not easily conformable to the 
genius of the language, and yet sometimes and for some 
sentiments a beautiful motion. Compare the immedi- 
ately preceding note. In reading, either aloud or men- 
tally, this song should be given the following rythmical 
movement: 

a\iii[\m[\tta\^'\\ 
c[|r r |r r |r r |r I 

the two motions, like the rhymes, being outside and in- 
side. Let it be said that this rhythm was the original 
source or fountain of the song; that is, the rhythm was 
not a suggestion of the sentiment, nor sprang into being 
with the thought or first line simultaneously, but was 
sung first and independently, and arrested the fancy 
in and for itself, as a grace of movement, fit for musical 
or poetical treatment. Then after a time, the mind being 
possessed with the rhythm-beauty, occurred the thought 
or sentiment, as naturally accepting the rhythm and 
well conveyable in it. This order of conception is as 



33 

They arc momentary, yet are ever coming, so 

remain. 
Ever break, rise, live, stay, sing, beam, glow, 
Ever sink, flee, fall, fail, wink, sleep, go, 
In the matntine eternity my heart doth entertain. 

There 's undeviating presence, the perception, and 

the form 
That perceived flees not, once known e'er stays ; 
And the bird sings loud, brook flows, tree sways, 
Yet are momentary, like the flashes floating on a 

storm : 



natural as the other. I mean that, if it be possibly 
more happy or more fruitful of beauty (which I am 
not ready to say confidently) that the rhythm and 
thought should launch forth togetner, in one illumina- 
tion, yet there is no more fitness in the thought's coming 
first and afterward attracting a rhythm fit for it than 
in the first coming of the rhythm which afterward 
captures a thought for itself by some delicate affinity 
not accountable. For a rhythm may be a thing of beauty 
in its own right, and therefore as worthy and potent to 
be the fountain of a thought as is a thought to be the 
source of a rhythm. 



34 



PRELUDE. 

WHEN I beheld thee, dearest maid 
Amid the chorus, song-arrayed. 
Beheld thee sing with such a soul, 
And thought I heard thee o'er the whole, 
My own most native song did roll 
Up in me by some law, 
Some mighty and sweet law, 
When thee I saw, 
And in me joyful rang. 
That thus I sang : 



IF I could sing as I can see, 
My song it were a sun. 
And eke a winking star, 
And eke a flowery glade. 
And eke a golden hill, — 

If I could sing as I can see. 

If I could sing as I can hear. 
My song were roaring run 
Of billows at the bar. 
And rush of windy raid, 
And every wild voice shrill, 

If I could sing as I can hear. 



My ears were filled, and soul floated mightily, with 
a great chorus, my eyes rejoiced the while with the sight 
of daughter Rl. singing in the glorious uproar. Where- 
upon was said this song. 



35 

If I could sing as I can think, 
My song were good things won, 
And ill all left afar, 
And all times present made, 
And majesty like will, — 

If I could sing as I can think. 

If I could sing as I can love, 
My song were never done. 
Sounding where naught could mar, 
Shining where naught could shade, 
Burning where naught could chill, — 

If I could sing as I can love. 

To see, to hear, to think, to love! 

Quaternity in one ; 

For all in thee they are, 

And dearly thee pervade : 

And thee most blessed still 
I see and hear and think and love. 



36 



DEAR love, I am perplexed oft, 
As oft I think of thee. 
And find my fancy at a pass 
Of sore extremity. 

As thus: I see thee like a rose 

At morn of summer day. 
As dewy sweet and lovely ; then 
Why art not red, I pray. 

Such modesty and preciousness 

As we in violets view 
Hid under trees, art thou ; hut then, 

Ah me! why art not blue? 

As sweet thy murmurs as a brook 
Doth dance where it doth flow, 

And maids the pebbles ; why, ah ! then. 
Dost so demurely go? 

Thy grace is airiness like birds 
That quake tree-tops with mirth ; 

But fellowed so. Oh why. why, then, 
Still walkest on the earth? 

'Tis so I am perplexed oft, 

As oft I think of thee, 
And heart finds head is at a pass 

Of sore extremity. 



37 

But thus I now resolved am. 

And thus abjure my doubt: 
To be one thing is perfect ne'er, 

But joins the common rout. 

To be a soaring lark withal 

Hath many fine effects ; 
But yet his airy virtues join 

The common fowl's aspects. 

But thou, whose form is lent from all, 

Th' advantage of each one, 
Look'st but thyself alone, all these 

To single beauty done. 

And now, sweet friend, no more perplext, 

As oft I think of thee, 
My head finds heart at madding pass 

Of love's extremity. 



38 

T SAY, " Come, dear ! " 
A Thou say'st, " I 'm here ! " 
I say " I woo completeness." 
Thou say'st, " If it be sweetness 

With me alone, 

My true heart's own. 
Then take thou all my all, my dear, 

Take my all ! " 

I say, " Thou 'rt fair ! " 

Thou say'st, " Beware ! " 

I say, " It is the truth ! " 

Thou say'st, " I lack some youth ; 

But if alone, 

My true heart's own. 
Thou lov'st me all thy all, my dear, 

Take my all." 

I say, " Sweet heart. 

We must not part ! " 

Thou say'st with gentle sweetness,. 

" Part not, here is completeness 

For us alone, 

My true heart's own 
That lov'st me all thy all, my dear. 

And my all." 

I say, " Dear love ! " 

Thou say'st, " Above 

All joy is 'longing to thee!" 

I say, " And still I woo thee, 

Still, soft and lone, 

My true heart's own. 
Though to thee married and all, my dear, 

Married and all." 



39 



DAYS without song ! Ah me ! 
How little I do sing! 
Like bird I should fly free, 
And warble on the wing : 
If I do not, not lack of love I prove, 
But that my heart 's too sad for love to move. 

But then if sad I be. 

The more I ought to sing; 

My sadness longs for thee, — 

So it with song should ring : 

If it do not, not lack of love I prove. 

But that my heart 's too poor for love to move. 

But then if poor I be. 

The better I should sing; 

For heart is rich of thee. 

And riches music bring : 

If they do not, not lack of love I prove. 

But that my heart 's too glad for love to move. 

But then if glad I be, 

'Tis sure I more must sing; 

For silent who could be 

To whom thy love did cling ! 

N^oiv sing I not, a lack of love I prove, 

For all my soul is joy, and love doth move. 



40 



ON an idle night alone, 
With the atmosphere my own, 
And the sweet champaign smells falling fresh on 

my sense, 
Bright above me all the sky. 
And the whole earth seeming nigh, 
What had I then to do with pretense? 

So I questioned of my heart. 

And I bade it stand apart, 

Be unhid and be seen and be tried and be snown: 

And I said, — Dost love thy love? 

Now lift up thy head above. 

And report and be true and be known. 

A song in double or two-four, time. See note p. 32. It 
should be read in the following measures: 

[[\m[\\ -1 

[[\\ ii\\ i[\\ tt|r II 



u|r [[\\ trlr ii 



It is to be noted that often a line of a poem may he 
read in sundry different ways, and which is the right 
way, that is to say, the poet's intention, must be dis- 
covered from other lines whose syllables can be uttered 
in only one manner. But this is no moj-e than ohtains 
in music. If a musical piece start thus, 



41 

Then the heavens bended down, 

Eke around me came the town, 

And the sweet champaign smells, and the meads, 

— all my own : 
And I listened at my heart, 
Where it waited still apart, — 
And the tone of them all was its tone. 

Then I comforted my soul, 

Saying to me there did roll 

Loving faith of a truth in my heart high above : 

And I took my heart amain, 

And I bade it to be plain. 

And to speak of my love to my love. 

^- - 



1^ 



no one can tell whether it is to be in three-four time 
or in six-eight time, which must be discovered from 
other places in the music marking the accent unmis- 
takably. For example, in this song the iirst two lines 
of the first stanza can be read in either the three-four or 
the two-four manner, that is, in either triple or double 
time; but the third line can not be read in triple time, 
but only in double time, and thus fixes the time for the 
whole song. No doubt it were better so to choose or 
arrange opening words that they could be read in only 
one manner, conformably to the metrical intention. 
Words, however, when they must be joiner-work in a 
vehicle for an express thought, are stubborn things, 
often so intractable that they must be obeyed rather 
than used. But this prevails in like manner amid the 
joined freedoms and legalities of music, so that an ex- 
cellent composer said to me that " one could not do 
always just as he would in harmony, but often must 
give up one excellence to have another." Hence a his- 
torian of music mentions the composer Fux for " the 
alniost incredible ingenuity of the devices," conjoined 
with grandeur of style, in a certain Mass, and a critic 
calls the glorious " Amen," the finale of the " Messiah," 
an " invention " which must have been a great as well 
as worthy labor to Handel. 



42 



\\l HEN lights go rolling round the sky, 
▼ » Then up my heart, then ope mine eye, 

With Molly and Polly 

And John so jolly — 
Away, say we, with melancholy, 
Heigho, heigho, and heigho, heigho, 

For me 's no melancholy. 

First rolls the sun in rosy morn. 
And wheels away whate'er 's forlorn : 

Then look I to my Molly, 

And certes John to Polly — 
To each the girl, the love, the wife, 
A rosy morn of rosy life : 
And so, and so, O ho, O ho, 
When lights go rolling round the sky, 
Then up my heart, then ope mine eye. 

With Molly and Polly 

And John so jolly — 
Away, say we, with melancholy, 
Heigho, heigho. and heigho, heigho. 

For me 's no melancholy. 

When moves the early moon a-west. 
We say the vesper time is best; 

And then lead I my Molly, 

And cometh John with Polly, 
To sweet sequestered willow shade. 
For such dear girls and lovers made : 
And so, and so, O ho. O ho, 



43 

When lights go rolling round the sky, 
Then up my heart, then ope mine eye, 

With Molly and Polly 

And John so jolly — 
Away, say we, with melancholy, 
Heigho, heigho, and heigho, heigho, 

For me 's no melancholy. 

When last the later stars arise, 
And look with sweet astonished eyes 

To be outshone by Molly, 

And pale compared to Polly, 
We lead each gentle wife to pillow, 
Hid more than with the veiling willow : 
And so, and so, O ho, O ho. 
When lights go rolling round the sky. 
Then up my heart, then ope mine eye, 

With Molly and Polly 

And John so jolly — 
Away, say we, with melancholy, 
Heigho, heigho, and heigho, heigho. 

For me 's no melancholy. 



44 



7 T^ WAS a hot— Ha! Ha! 
1 Arid spot— Ha! Ha! 
He was dreaming of a dripping shady grot — 
Ha ! Ha ! 

Came a savage — Ha ! Ha ! 

Fit for ravage — Ha ! Ha ! 

Saying, " Move, or I '11 behead you like a cab- 
bage—Ha ! Ha ! 

Look and see — Ha ! Ha ! 
'Tis for me — Ha ! Ha ! 

Not for you to be a-basking on this lea — Ha ! 
Ha! 

So now flit— Ha! Ha! 
If you sit— Ha ! Ha ! 

Any longer, I '11 let out your little wit — Ha ! 
Ha!" 

"Move a jot — Ha! Ha! 
I will not— Ha ! Ha ! 

As for you and all your whimsies, you may trot 
—Ha! Ha! 



The following is the metrical intention of this song, 
according to which it should be read: 

r clr^cHti 

•r t\f c|r Ci'r r|r r|rHcHr'-|I 



45 

Who *s afraid— Ha! Ha! 
Of your blade— Ha ! Ha ! 

There 's demand in this hot region for a shade — 
Ha! Ha!" 

Saith he, suave — Ha ! Ha ! 
" Laugh so brave — Ha ! Ha ! 

But I '11 make you very soon a little grave — Ha ! 
Ha!" 

Then the knave — Ha ! Ha ! 
Stab he gave — Ha ! Ha ! 

That his knife up to the hilt in him he drave — 
Ha! Ha! 

But he said— Ha ! Ha ! 
" I 'm ahead— Ha ! Ha ! 

I have slipped clean through your fingers, being 
dead— Ha! Ha!" 



46 



THRIFTY Tom makes a call far out o' town, 
Where a little meadow lark wears a 
quaint gown, — 
O ho ho ho, ho ho ho, wears a quaint gown. 

Sayeth Tom, prayeth Tom, " Ah, pretty thing, 
Be a little cosy bird, — w^hile I hark, sing: 
Ay ay ay ay, ay ay ay, while I hark, sing. 

This song is written in the charming rhythm of 
Daffy-down-dilly, in Mother Goose, as follows: 

rcr \[[\ ir crir^i 
i[[i\[[\ Iter Ifr II 

This, it will be noted, is an instance of double time, 
and a very charming one, one of the most delightful 
rhythms in that repertory of elegant rhythms, Mother 
Goose. It can be read, also, in triple time, by a figura- 
tion of the first measure of the second line, thus: 



mi 



But tliis manner is awkward in that measure, and not 
so fine a rhythmical motion throughout as is the double 
time. One of the peculiar charms of this rhythm is the 
remarkable beauty of the change in motion in the third 
measure of the first line, and the contrasted motion in 
the corresponding measure of the last line. If these 
two measures be changed about in the two lines, re- 
placing each other in the lines, the loss in grace and 
vivacity is very remarkable. I have met no example 
exhibiting more excellently the beauty and charm that 
lie in rhythms themselves, apart from melodies or words. 



But the bird cocks her head, rongish and coy, 
"What will ye be giving now? — tell me that, 

boy : 
Chee chee chee chee, chee chee chee, — tell nie 

that, boy." 

Thrifty Tom saith he '11 give love very fine : 
" Ye should not be vaunting yours, but should 

woo mine, — 
Ah ha ha ha, ha ha ha, — ye should woo mine." 



48 



SWEET baby of my soul, 
Thy merry winsomeness, 
Sweet reasonableness, 
With dear devotions roll 

Around and unto all to whom thou 'longest lov- 
ingly : 

Ah me ! 

I never knew the like 
Of thy wild merriments ; 
And eke thy serious bents 
A golden beauty strike 

That soundeth in thy tones like bells and angels 
heavenly : 

Ah me ! 

But O, my darling one 
What is this ireful throng 
Of fears that swallow song, 
As mists un-fire the sun? 

A frightful pathos rolls upon my heart and bil- 
lows thee : 

Ah me ! 



To daughter Rh., on her going away. It is not easy 
to express, measure or explain the pathos with which 
the young often affect the old. There is something in 
it that sounds the depths of the soul. It is a mysterious 
feeling, and seems not to depend on sadness of estate, 
fortune or event. Often up it comes and drags tears 
after it, when the old contemplate the beloved young. 



49 



IF T do sing, it is a throb of joy: 
I can not sound a tone 
But round me swing upon their pinions coy 

The ministries of all the air, 
" Quaint spirits," drolls, and fairies rare, 

That call me " Dear " and " Own," 
And play their revels debonair. 

If I do joy, it is a throb of song: 

Never I feel a bliss 
But round deploy and swiftly to me throng 

All ranks of rhythms musical 

And elements in carnival. 

That to mine ear submiss 

Intone a glee or madrigal. 

But if I think of thee, most dearest one, 
I can not make a choice 

Whether I drink at first a songful run. 
Or whether first 'tis joy doth start: 
For both together in one part, 
A bliss and eke a voice, 
Marry and dwell within my heart. 



50 



WITH what a gracious preciousness 
My lady looks ! 
I meet her lovely gentleness 

In all my hidden nooks. 
I know where daisies peep 

Fresher than morning; 
I know where hills are steep, 
Where laughing rills run down, 
Where rocks are red and brown. 
Where sunbeams make a crown 
Of diamonds, adorning 
The wreathed brows of naiad brooks : 
From these with gracious preciousness 
My lady looks. 

With what a lovely happiness 

My lady sings, 
While with her silvery songfulness 
Join all the tuneful things. 
What I have named before 

And sung for shining. 
Have voice also galore ; 
The hills to quiver seem 
With tone, and bright sunbeam 
Is like a song in dream ; 
Brooks sing combining 
With bird and breeze, the boughs arc strings 
With them in lovely happiness 
Mv ladv sings. 



51 



Willi what religions perfectness 

My lady loves ! — 
Like the half-mourning tenderness 
Of mated brooding doves. 
I know where sun-rays woo 

The firstling lily, 
And where the sky its blue, 
And winds their odors, drop. 
That then together stop. 
To bear a lovely crop 
Of violets stilly. 
But none with such a beauty moves 
As when with her sweet perfectness 
My lady loves. 



1STAY to sing a little song 
Unto my clear, my dear, 
As up I go and down I go, 
As in and out I go. 
With business here. 

It is like light to sing the song, 
Or breath, full deep, full deep, 
As up I go and down I go, 
As in and out I go, 
From morn to sleep. 

My song is like my red, red blood, 
In heart that beats, that beats, — 
That in doth flow and out doth flow, 
That round and back doth flow, 
Floods and retreats. 

My song is like a break of day, 
When ends the night, the night; 
Heart down or up or quick or done, 
I sing, — then all is one, 
By my love-light. 



53 



T FELL in pits of discontent, 

* i^nd looked upon myself with eyes 

Of disapproving, sad surprise. 

To mark how ill was all my bent ; 

For I could gather in me little good. 

And e'en that little in a shadow stood. 

I found me wasteful, indolent. 

Capricious, fitful, full of cries. 

Most often foolish, never wise, 

Morose to genial merriment, 

And darksome-empty as a hollow grot 

That on a sunny hill-side inks a blot. 

So to myself malevolent. 

My poor best deeds I did despise. 

And nothing in me did assize 

Of import to be excellent : 

But then I read my heart, that it was true, 

" And loved myself because myself loved you." 

A reminiscence of Sir Walter Raleigh. More than 
a half century ago I heard Dr. Richard Storrs read a 
song from Sir Walter, in a lecture, the sentiment and 
last line of which fastened in me. Here on the last line 
stands the echo of the sentiment. 



54 



UP to the top o' the trees, 
Where sway the bird and breeze, 
And Song's wild eyes 
Look to the skies : 
Up to the top o' the trees ! 

Up to the peaks o' the cloud. 
Where Echo's suburbs crowd 
The lightning's flash 
And thunderous crash : 
Up to the peaks o' the cloud ! 

Nay, I will walk on the earth ; 

My love them all is worth : 

In Love I see 

All of them be. 

And more — I will walk on the earth ! 



Written in the measure of Hickory-dickory-dock, in 
Mother Goose. This, though not so fascinating a 
rhj'thm as Daffy-down-dilly, is still a delightful metrical 
motion. See p. 46 note. 



55 



A BLOSSOM peeped, a shy and sweet design 
Of a stemmed fairy vase that Nature wrought 
Among pale tints and snow : It was the Spring : 

A runnel filled, it filled and rushed along 
With speed that seemed a steepy mountain-side 
Suddenly liquid made : it was the Spring : 

A bright green light, a garment luminous. 
That seemed a velvet ready-made i' the sky, 
Quick earth that hour put on : it was the Spring : 

A robin piped, and then a jay and lark 

Trilled up their notes against eaeh other's tone. 

As a gold borders brown : it was the Spring : 

As the same sun is a rising sun if looked at west- 
ward of it, or a setting sun if looked at eastward of it, 
so seems our transferrence-hour (called death-hour, — a 
good enough name — " death is not dangerous ") an 
Autumn-end, if looked on from this side of it, but a 
Spring-opening if viewed from beyond it. To jump the 
meridian in thought is instantly to make a rising of 
what seemed a setting. And as a great thought or per- 
ception settles immediately on the face, and models 
itself there, 'tis possible that some sight from a vantage 
of observation obtained in the last earthly hours or mo- 
ments, a backward look from the new Westward-ho, re- 
vealing the sun of life as rising and a new time at 
the Spring, may give, or help give, the face that 
strange and affecting stateliness, amounting even to a 
grandeur, which appears in the countenance of the dead. 
But however that be, and by whatever way, 'tis certain 
a majesty comes to pass in the face by death, and I 
think it hath some manner of spiritual value and force 
for us. 



56 

A nimble bliss, which then to stillness meek 
Soon was translated by my fearful love, 
Woke and was hushed in heart : it was the 
Spring: 

An eye-lid shut, and hands lay very still, 
And on new-stately features fell a light 
From winter-ending sky : it was the Spring : 



57 



WHICH of the two is my girl, I pray? 
The one that 's away, away, away? 
Which of the two is my lovely star? 
The one that 's afar, afar, afar? 
That w^anders at noon in a southern light? 
That travels the vault of a northern night? 
Which is my girl? And which is my star? 
The one away? And the one afar? 

But which of the two is my girl — tell me — 
The one that I fancy, and see, and see ? 
And which of the two is my star of my sky? 
The one that is by, is by, is by? 
That ever the eye of my heart doth hold ? 
That exceeds the day with its fancied gold? 
Which is my girl? — and the star of my sky? 
The one with me, heart-pictured by ? 

To daughter Rl. The song was sent in a letter with 
this explanation or occasion: "Last evening as I was 
sitting at my simple repast at my little cocoa-inn, and I 
thought of you, there seemed for a moment two girls, one 
far away in the south and one close with me there by 
the sweet vision of the love-instructed mind; and then 
this seemed to me like a star which, although far off 
in the night sky, still is present even in the day by 
the richness of memory of its heavenly mold; and the 
girl and the star seemed ever with me, even though 
distant so far in light and in space, obscured by the 
day's business or the busy day. When I came to my 
desk at home, this is the way in which the thought was 



58 

The lovable mystery now, I ween, 

By loving is seen, is seen, is seen : 

Two girls, two stars, in one are plain. 

And never, O never, in twain, in twain : 

The one that 's away is the one that is here — 

My fancy doth frame her, my love and my fear : 

And which is my girl? What 's near? What 's 

far? 
My one is my one, both girl and star. 



59 



OLOVE. my love, this blissful day 
I love thee more than yesterday : 
But praise me not — 
It were to spot 
The glistening white of all my truth ; 
Be not too glad, 
But call thy lad 
No better than many another, forsooth. 

If I. poor I, inquire and ask 

What things I have that love should ask, 

Alas for me ! 

I plainly see 
I have but one of virtue's kind : 

'Tis honest heart — 

I have no part 
That 's better for loving or wooing, I mind. 

If I, poor I, that honest am. 
Did say 'tis also rich I am, 

Then should I lie ; 

My honest eye 
Naught sees in me again but this. 

That I am true, 

And never knew 
Aught finer or fairer for telling, I wis 



60 

For O, for O, mine only own, 
My beautiful and noble own, 

If aught I see 

Of rich in me 
That maketh honesty more gay, 

It is not mine, 

It all is thine, 
Who art my enriching of spirit, I say. 

For O, for O, mine own most dear. 
My beautiful and noble dear. 

If in my mind 

A wealth thou find 
That lights my truth with golden beams, 

'Tis not my own ; 

Thou art alone 
Of riches my reason and maker, meseems. 

See, love, my love, lo ! at the brook 
Thou look'st but down into the brook 

And what before 

Was stream and shore 
Doth shining with thine image show : 

So in me spy, — 

'Tis thy sweet eye 
Amasseth the sum of my riches, I trow. 



61 



I WHEEL upon the '* merry spheres, 
I walk the flowery earth ; 
Like garlands I do wear my years, 

Like birds I sing for mirth : 
And this unto my heart I tell — 
Let things go ill or things go well : 
What so care I for things? 
I am more great than kings 
By my true love. 

Go find me such another boy. 

With so full years upon him. 
That so can sport and so can joy. 

Whatever ill be done him : 
For this unto my heart I tell — 
Let days go ill or days go well : 

What care I for the days? 

I live" above time's ways 
By my true love. 

So love doth bring my soul to sing, 

And meditate upon her ; 
And unto her my heart doth cling 

With honor's love, love's honor : 
Now, this unto my heart I tell — 
Let fame go ill or fame go well : 

Ah, what care I for fame? 

This doth enrich my name — 
My truth-true love. 

But loves she me? 
What 's that to thee? 
Ask not to know above 
This pride, I love my love. 



62 



AH, dearest dear, kind is thy will : 
But heart doth plead for better still, 
In one sweet way : 
Ah, why, I pray. 
Since thou so high dost sit above me. 
Not say thou canst look down and love me, 

By love's strange laws? 
O, I should blame thee much but for one cause, — 
'Tis that thou dost keep me wooing. 
Which is passing sweet a-doing. 

O, thou art good, mine own dear Sweet, 
O yea. too good for my sad feet 

To come too near thee, 

And I do fear thee : 
Yet O, I need, I want, I claim 
Some daily words of wedded fame, — 

These were not flaws : 
O, I should blame thee much but for one cause, — 
'Tis that thou dost keep me wooing, 
Which is passing sweet a-doing. 

None ever lived more faithful, dear. 
None ever looked with eye more clear 

Upon a lover. 

And let him ho\er 



63 

More close, more near, more dear to heart ; 
But daily give me, for my part, 

Some name that draws : 
O, I should blame thee much but for one cause, 

'Tis that thou dost keep me wooing, 

Which is passing sweet a-doing. 

And yet, ah me. what might I say 
If thou shouldst satisfy away 
Sweet appetite. 
That doth incite 
Because thou 'rt all too dear to give 
Poor me what I by seeking live ! 

Let me not pause. 
But love thee nobler in this cause, 
For that thou dost keep me wooing, 
Which is passing sweet a-doing. 



64 



AH yes ! come back, dear one, come back, 
Come back to me ! 
Thou 'rt gone so far that for the lack 
I grieve of thee : 
O, thou dost stay- 
So far away. 
So very far away. 
Darkened is day : 
And yet — never hast thou gone from me, 

And canst not. 

The refrain in this song is intended for the following 
reading: 

[|r-|ic:|fr|r ti^ | 



tlrtkl 



The third measure is a couplet, that is, two equals 
in the time of three equals; the exact opposite of a 
triplet, which is three equals in the time of two equals. 
Sidney Lanier has explained this metrical figure fully 
in his " Science of English \'erse " — concerning which 
admirable treatise I ask leave here to refer to Edmund 
Rowland Sill's commendation; for that poet has said 
that Lanier's book is the only treatise known to him in 
l^nglish that deserves the name of a scientific or sys- 
tematic foundation of English prosody. 

A book has been issued recently in England entitled 
" The Musical Basis of \'erse," in which the writer, 
very rightly leaving the common prosodies, addresses 
himself to a notation of verse by means of musical 
signs, as first carried out thoroughly and at due length, 
as far as ever I have seen, by Sidnej^ Lanier. But this 
English book is vitiated throughout by the assumption 
of double time as the primorphic or fundamental mode 



65 

Ah yes ! I look, dear one, I look, 

I look for thee, 
And think perhaps in some dear nook 

Thou hid'st from me: 

But no ; afar, 

And like a star, 

A disappearing star, 

Thy graces are : 
And yet — never hast thou gone from me, 

And canst not. 

Ah yes ! the time, dear one, the time, 

The time is long 
While thou art far in other clime; 

Fails my lone song. 

Hope hard doth hold, 

But I grow old, 

I grow most swiftly old, 

And life grows cold : 
And yet — never hast thou gone from me. 

And canst not. 

For O ! I wait, dear one, I wait, 

I wait thee here ; 
All day, all night I watch, till late 

Stars reappear : 



of English verse, which seems to me so unaccountable, 
especially after Sidney Lanier (to whom the writer 
barely refers), that unless I were steeped in infahi- 
bility (from which may a kind Heaven preserve me) 
or had not Lanier back of me, I should go many a long 
day asking myself whether it were the author or I who 
was stone deaf metrically. And yet we both are writing 
of things addressed to the ear. 



66 

So lifts thy light 
Above the night, 
But thou beyond the night 
Art gone from sight : 
And yet — never hast thou gone from me, 

And canst not. 

And O ! thy heart, dear one, thy heart, 

Thy heart is held ; 
Thy feet must journey, must depart, — 

Heart 's not compelled. 

Around earth's vast 

Thy form hath passed 

Awhile; thy heart, not passed, 

In mine is fast : 
For O ! — never hast thou gone from me. 

And canst not. 



67 



AH, peradventure there be soil 
Richer with flowers 
Than this our northern rock, where toil 
Must fill the hours. 
The hours must fill 
With sturdy will 
To draw from it a yield of corn or wine or oil. 

But well I know no place of bliss 

Obtains a crop 
Of sweeter petals full, than this 

My table-top — 

The top o' my table. 

Which so is able 
Because peculiar zephyr doth its surface kiss, 

'Tis breath of daughter-love, in sooth. 

Makes the old wood 
To bloom as if again in youth 

A-field it stood, 

Stood i' the field 

With blossoming yield 
Hanging and decking its umbrage like a flowery 
booth. 



To daughter S., when I found on my desk a vase 
of Sweet Peas, arranged and placed there by her hanu 
during my absence. 



68 



LITTLE maid, pretty maid, 
Hark, and be told : 
I 've a hidden pocket-fnll 
Of a fine gold. 

Little maid, pretty maid, 
Kind will yon be ? 
Will yon have my pocket-fnll. 
With it take me? 

Little maid, pretty maid, 
What 's all the gear. 
What 's the pretty pocket-fnll 
That I hold here? 

Little maid, pretty maid, 
Love is the gold. 
And my heart the pocket-fnll- 
That 's my all-told. 



Again the measure of Daffy-down-dilly. See note 
on p. 46. 



69 



ALONE I wait, 
But lonely not am I : 
This is my state, 
That thou art ever by 
When lone I wait. 

My vigil 's long, 

The night is like a den : 

This is my song, — 

Ever thou 'rt with me when 

My vigil 's long. 

Or 'tis lone thought 
1 wrestle with in vain : 
More than I sought 
Now soon I hold amain — 
Thee in lone thought. 

Or is 't lone love 
Wherein I wait and call ? 
O. no ! Above 
These drears, thyself art all 
In my lone love. 



I had to wait a long time in a cold night out doors. 
Then dear Memory came to me radiant, with this song 
in her hand. 



70 



I SAID, Teach me, dear Song, 
How I may learn to sing, 
How I may tune the string 
To loneness sweet and long. 

I would a sound prolong 
That all who hear may feel 
Dear loss the soul o'er-steal : 
This teach to me, dear Song. 

Said Song, Thy heart to stir 
With sole and pain-sweet tone, 
Go thou and sit alone 
Where once thou wast with her. 



71 



? 'T^ IS a merry habit o' the eye 

1 That the oozy runnels hurry out 
And the little trickles come about, and about, 
Ready at a laugh as at a sigh, 

'Tis a curiosity, I trow. 

That a cachinnation ripples in, 

And the note of merry-making din, merry din. 

Mid expression of a sorry woe. 

But the truth of love is truly dight ; 

There doth no irrelevancy shock. 

Nor counterfeit malevolence bemock, and bemock ; 

Loving signs are simpleness and light. 



In double time, and so to be read for its better 
motion, although it is possible to read it in triple time, 
as often two modes are possible, though but one is in- 
tended, and that one therefore the better. See note, p. 
40. — The proper motion is as follows: 



tm\tm\( 'I 



This is a fine rhythm, very attractive, vivacious and 
dainty, suitable to draw after it either a winged and 
joyous melody or song-words of like quality. I think 
something more like bird-plays or some fine gaiety 
ought to go with this rhythm, but I can give only what 
it has drawn to me. 



72 



BEAUTY was in ihc air 
For ear and eye : 
Beauty was in the sky, 
With eve-Hght there. 

Faces both good and fair 

Were passing by, 
Faces with gentle eye, 

Expressions rare. 

Voices the breeze did bear 
From far and nigh, 

Voices hke birds that fly 
With song to spare. 

Many a soul did share 
Both smile and sigh : 

Many with bearing high, ^ 
Nobled with care. 

Round me and everywhere, 

Jocund or shy, 
Round me and over and by, 

Joys filled the air. 

Ah ! for them all to spare 

No sense had I ; 
Ah ! for them all no sigh. 

No smile to wear. 



73 

O, but I felt them where 

All flew to lie. — 
O, but in th}^ loved eye, 

And in thy hair : 

O, but I loved them where 
They all did fly, — 

O, in thy face ! — and I 
Loved them all there. 



74 



WHEN April's changeable sweet face doth 
show 
An early peeping light, 
I love full oft 
Betimes at morning from the house to go 
With quick delight : 
The sun and flowery thrift 
Again within my twice-waked eye do blow. 

And the dulled ear of all my sleepy stay 
The livelong night within, 
Opens alert 
In woods where meet the voices of the day 
In charming din : 
The sweet and musical art 
Of winds and birds concerting mark my way. 

Then under eye and ear the merry Spring 
Doth fancy-fill my feet, 
And swift I run 
To follow soft and brown woods-paths that bring 
Me odors sweet : 
The forest rounds an urn 
More redolent than rose-jars of a king. 



75 

Nor eye nor ear nor foot nor delicate sense 
Of freshening fragrancies — 
Not these alone 
Bedew the time's sweet wandering expense 
With ecstacies : 
In arborous valley-lane 
The flavorous runnels pour me wine intense. 

Sweet sights and sounds and gusts, and mossy 
mould 
That flatters idle foot, 
Now these are seasoned 
With racy relishes such as to hold 
In heart are put : 
My happy love is opened 
To the sweet things my senses do enfold. 



76 



WHEN morning breaketh on my sense, 
The roseate gold beam 
Outright surpasseth the pretense 
Of all roseate dream. 

When day-spring springeth on mine eyes, 

The magical gold glories 
Do far exceed and long out-prize 

The old magical stories. 

I care not what the thing or realm. 

Or glorious starred ideal, 
What doth o'erleap. o'erfly, o'erwhelm, 

Is soothly glorious real. 



Here is the basic rhythm of this song: 

df c|f rlrtlf 
t\iii\t |r II 
elf c|r c|rc|r 
c|f |ttc|r I 

I say basic because the song is not wholly uniform. 
Departures (equivalents) are evident in the second, 
third, and fourth stanzas; but as the song begins with 
the basic form, so it returns to it in the last stanza. 



Of which, dear love, revered love, 

'Tis tenderest dear behoof 
That thou to me all things above 

Art dearest, tenderest proof. 

For what thing is, or what man dreams 

The beautiful beamed light 
Of thee that springs and sings and streams. 

Thou soul, beautiful, bright. 



78 



I WAKED — 'twas bright; I rose — 'twas fair; 
I went forth in the bonny air; 
The breeze blew on my cheek, my brow, my eyes, 
And waked an image in my eyes. 

I walked — how fresh ! I breathed — how sweet ! 
The sun shone with a beaming heat : 
The heat unbound the lockers of my heart, 
And warmed an image in my heart. 

I stand — all 's blithe; I look — all 's blest; 
I said, " Kind Air, tell me love's rest." 
" Love's rest" saith Air, — 'tis to be true, devout, 
Reverent in love, tender, devout. 

I stay — for joy; I sing — for praise: 
Devout of love shall be my days, — 
All days ; — " But O, warm Light, when shall love 

end?" 
"Love lives," said Light, " worlds without end." 



79 



DISTANCE, with unfriendly spite, 
Long hath kept thee from my sight; 
Now it wings itself away 
At the love-translucent day. 
Like an owl that hooted all the night. 

As the day doth look on thee 

It becometh glad like me. 

Catching from that look of thine 

A sweet happiness divine, 

Which in all its early glow I see. 

Day doth then to me o'er-pass 
Thy sweet beauty, like a glass 
That reflecteth such a light 
Into my bewildered sight : 
Twice 'tis so I find my gentle lass. 



80 



FAR up the low coast roll the waves, 
Roll, so disperse, so are done : 
Down deeps o' sea clouds scoop their caves- 
Shades, soon dissolved as begun. 

Far up the heart th' waves roll apace, 
Hued with their blue and their white ; 

Down deeps o' soul clouds make a space — 
Ca\'es mansion-deep, silver-bright. 

Roll, rolling deep, roll, rolling mass, 

Roll, roll away, roll afar ; 
Fade, silver cloud, fade, waver, pass : 

Heart fastens all — there ye are. 



In triple time, but with much use of the one-note 
measure, and to be read in that manner, as follows: 



r]nr ir 
r irclr Irnr 



r t\ r 1 



81 



OMY own love, O my fond love, 
Come a-roaming with me in the wild wood, 
Where the light sifts, where the wind drifts 
On the little hlossom in her hood. 

'Tis the May-time, 'tis the play-time — 
Let the pretty lasses not be too coy, 
But the wood-side and the brook-tide 
Sweetly visit with a modest boy. 

Let the lad too not be sad too 
With a loving lassie in a flower-mead, 
Or in sweet nook where a fleet brook 
Babbles, nor doth other babble heed. 



Triple time, but so figured in the measures as to be 
very different in effect from the more common form of 
triple time, and therefore to be read in the manner noted 
as follows, with decided accent on the first beat of each 
measure : 



n\nft\n\\ 
ti\imi\n 

r^|rrr^|rr|| 
nlttmlr " 



^ 82 

I would know thee, I would show thee 
To my heart as blithe as any Spring breeze, 
And as still too as the hill too. 
And as sweet as water under trees. 

Come to wild play, undefiled play 

Of the Maying gale and happy young hearts 

O my own love, O my fond love. 

Show me Nature's pretty wooing arts. 



83 



HOW brightly breaks the day, 
How rightly rides the traveling sun, 

how merrily shoots his ray. 
Speedily on doth run. 

1 were a dolt and slave 

If keeping still my indolent bed. 
While so rosily bright and brave 
Glorious morn is spread. 

No vantage will I ask: 
For who than I can wealthier be, 
Who in ruddier sun can bask, 
Stormier sail a sea? 

And you the more can buy? 
To buy hath not the stateliest ring: 
O how merrily prowls my eye, 
Falling on everything — 

And overhauling all 
By simple right of taking, my lad, 
Sailing lightsomely o'er the ball. 
Praying nor good nor bad. 

And if I woo a maid. 
As do, can you a lovelier woo. 
Love her sweetlier, unafraid. 
Knowing her heart is true? 



84 

And you are rich, I poor? 
Ah pah ! I pray you plainlier see, — 
Ah ! whatever you buy, for sure 
Never can you buy me! 



85 



TRIP, trip, ye fairies, up to the moon, 
And trip adown the lea. 
And trip o'er wood where it hath stood 
For ages by the sea : 
But then eftsoon 
Returned be : 
Ye fairies fleet, ye are my sweet 
Love-thoughts of her who weddeth me. 

Now blest be life, and blest be love, 

That be so dear entwined ; 
And blest be she who unto me 
Her gentle heart inclined, 
And like a dove 
Built in my mind 
A hidden nest of loving rest 
That only I know where to find. 

I come and lay me down near by. 
When I dare not come nearer ; 
And listen her, while love doth stir 
That 's every moment dearer. 
Then up look I, 
And see her clearer 
With my love's eye : O love, I cry. 
Was never love nor faith sincerer. 



86 



AN unmade song I carry with me, 
Unfinished, but ever begun ; 
Its tones all my heart o'er-run, 
It sings wild and free : 

So wild and free I hardly ensnare, 
Nor easily, wilfully take 
The dear music it doth make, 
Its love fine and fair : 

So fine and fair that never I need 

A better or happier day 

Than this, catching when I may 

The song's golden lead : 

The metrical intention is as follows: 

i\! i\U\Ut\t I 
t\ilt\ttt\f I 

i\r |rc|rr|r I 



i\r |r t|r 1 



I offer this notation not for the sake of the three 
measures figured with three articulations (which would 
easily enforce themselves), but because the reading is im- 
possible without observance of the two measures of one 
note or articulation, prolonged, namely, the second 
measure in the third and fourth lines of the stanza. 

See song p. 80 and note thereon. 



87 

Such golden lead that over me poise 
A thousand of thousand of sprites, 
Sweet fays, rosy wings and lights, 
And strange brooding joys : 

Such brooding joys that if I but cease 
A moment, a breath in the moil, 
The sprites drive my sordid toil. 
And bring shining peace : 

So shining peace that if I pen in 
The sprite I was waiting to snare, 
A new music haunting there 
I find — so begin : 

Ay, ay, begin, 
The Song begin 
That 's never out-run 
Till worlds be done. 



I WISH to sing a song, a song, 
And tenderly trill it thee, 
And lovingly trill it thee : 
Alas, no song will come, will come. 
But trickily 'scapeth me, 
Despitefully 'scapeth me. 
And leaves me mid the dumb. 

I prythee tell me why, and why, 
Sweet syllables will delay. 
The beautiful words delay : 

Why vain I long to sing, to sing, 
My wandering girl to pray, 
My beautiful girl to pray 

To hear the runes I bring. 

But now the cause I know, I know : 
Impossible is my dream. 
Too heavenly do I dream, — 

Ah yes, too much it were, it were. 
Too verily great would seem. 
Too measureless-blissful seem, 

Both love and song for her. 



Sent in a letter to daughter Rl., traveling afar nff, 
m lier laborious work. 



89 



AS one sphere fits to another 
The radii being mates, 
So fits my love to its brother, 
The dome of the sky's estates : 

And I wonder why in the offing 
Things seem so great, so small ; 
And I say, 'Tis my love that 's doffing 
And donning and shaping all : 

And I wonder why the horizon 
Hath circle so immense ; 
And I say, 'Tis my love hath eyes on 
All things of thought or sense. 

The firmament is up there, 
Its concave 's like my love ; 
Love's twin inverted cup there 
Poureth the stars above. 



90 



HOW long it is, my gentle one, 
Since I did sing to thee — 
How long since all my love did run 
Into a song for thee ! 

And wherefore 'tis, why sing I not,- 

This do I ask of me: 
The very reason then I wot. 

And dearly spy in me : 

And it is this, — I have no song 

I may compose to thee. 
Because I listen all day long 

While thou dost sing in me. 



91 



AS one self-entered in a lion's den, 
Waits savagery, 
Not knowing how or whence or when, 
How stung from bog or starved from fen, 
The beasts may be, — 

So I have trolled me to this lair of trade. 

This wretchedness, 

Where cruelty is scaled and paid. 

And villain coarsened clamor made 

A horridness. 



Experience, and happy: I have been forced (as how 
few have not? — and whether they be the happier ones 
may be questioned) to spend hours and days, months, yea, 
years, in Brodw sscnschaften, very wearisome to me, both 
in the quality of the occupation and in the ideals circum- 
scribing it. Often, when so tired with the labor, and 
more wearied with the style of it than with the exertion, 
that it has seemed to me I could pen not another scribe- 
stroke nor foot another column nor bear another wrangle, 
I have ceased a favored minute or two, closed my eyes 
and let my ears shut themselves; and then instantly has 
visited me some hovering song, my own or another's, 
usually with some bright vision, as if a beloved some- 
one or a winged being brought me the song, or if not a 
song, then a refreshing thought, or a sudden illumi- 
nation regarding some problem or reasoning hanging in 
my thoughts; after which few moments, hardly more 
than a slow winking of the eyelids, I have picked up 
the common work again with a wonderful new power to 
accept it, yes, even to apply to it, as it w-ere, some of 
the light of the vision. One day I had to visit an in- 
ferior court of justice and wait a long time for the com- 
ing on of the matters that brought me there, surrounded 
meantime with such sights, sounds, words, faces as 
made daylight seem hideous and the golden rule a lie. 
Suddenly Song came to me, as ever at need, a Light, a 
beautiful Form, with these verses as on a scroll in her 
hand, and I was as if away, free of the sordid presences, 
and no longer conscious of them, though among them. 



92 

I know not why this growhng rabble rip 
With bitter tooth, 

And snarl their fangs from upper lip, 
As it were pride to rend and strip, 
And love no sooth. 

This now I note, but now 'tis scrolled and fled. 

Like witchery ; 

Song Cometh — first 'tis hush o'ershed, 

Then murmurs, wherein noise is dead 

By poesy. 

Ah! Freedom of my versing! Vision! Bliss! 

The wranglers lie : 

They think me kept with howl and hiss ; 

But Song disturbs me with a kiss — 

Away I fly. 



93 



01 would sing a song 
More beautiful than e'er I sang before : 
It should be fine, it should be sweet, and more, 
And manly strong. 

I dream an imagery 

Like silver vapors in a rosy air, 

And finer eke, fantastic too, and rare, — 

Sweet phantasy. 

The music should be soft. 
Full of sooth sonance variously changed, 
With breathings linked, consanguined notes, ar- 
ranged 
Recurrent oft. 

It should be nobly wise. 
Severe with thought's serene asperity, 
But graciously, with courtesy, degree, 
And lowly guise. 

And being charmed so, 
Most beautiful and wise and what is best. 
And musical, and loving-full, — most blest 
That it should go 

To thee ! 



94 



AWEARY 
And a sad dispirited day, 
And dreary 

In a slow importunate way : 
And all the woes of silent memory add 
A morrow 
For sorrow. 

With winking 

'Twas my eyes were crazily sore ; 

With thinking 

'Twas my head bowed heavily o'er; 

And all the day and night had rainily dropped 

Things fearful 

Or tearful. 

'Twas weeping 

In a mist of muggy suspense. 

Or sleeping 

With a droop of weakening sense : 

And black-clad hours went marching sullenly by, 

Like endless 

Things friendless. 

What doing 

Is it makes me wickedly prest? 

What viewing 

Is it gives me vision distrest? 

Can not I get me to some height for my eyes 

Of being. 

Or seeing? 



95 

Then looking 

Off afar, afar in the clear, 

Not brooking 

That I stop or stay for me here, 

I see a distance made of marvelous light. 

And heightening 

And brightening. 

Perceiving 

That afore my vagabond gaze, 

A-grieving, 

Was at self, that never had blaze 

O' the light that shines high out, that only afar 

Sojourneth 

And burneth. 

Then peering, 

Did I turn inspecting the grass, 

And veering. 

Did I note the creatures that pass. 

On feet, on wing, and eke those hopping along, 

An earth-full 

All mirthful. 

And gleeful 

Was the lay of ballading bird — 

A tree-full 

O' their peals as never I heard — 

With canty nods and frisky frolicsome tunes 

A-gadding 

And gladding: 



96 

Sweet scurries 

O' the clouds that tumble about, 

And flurries 

O' the winds a-whirring without. — 

These be the things of wondrous jubilant light, 

To find by 

The mind eye, — 

Perceiving 

That afore my vagabond gaze, 

A-grieving, 

Was at self, that never had blaze 

O' the light that shines high out, that only afar 

Sojourneth, 

And burneth. 



97 



THERE be two ranges of strange hills, 
One is the breeding of thy youth, 
And one of mine; and from their rills 
This river where we plight our truth. 

I ken my hills, thou markest thine. 
But neither doth the other's know; 
And now conjoined in river's shine, 
We can not tell to what they flow. 

The hills are sad that were unshared, 
The unlearned ocean shall be known: 
The sorrow can not be repaired. 
But now and on is love's, my own. 



98 



THE Light, that was full waked at merry morn, 
Had climbed up eager to the ridge of day ; 
There Love' met Light, whereat surprised each, 
They fell to admiration both straightway. 

But soon this Love and Light, as often haps 
Twixt those too suddenly that friendly be, 
Embraced no more like Love and Light, but set 
Themselves full roundly on to disagree. 

Now this the conflict was twixt Love and Light, — 
To grant the other brighter each was- loth: 
And sooth by day they might dispute ; but Love 
Illumined midnight bright enough for both. 



99 



FOR little love a little song.— 
Is that thy thought, my dearie? 
Nay, count not on thy fingers long 
My lays so leal and cheery ; 

But weigh them in thy gentle mind. 
And thou shalt know them heavy : 

I may defy thee e'er to find 
Thee such another bevy. 

For by my sweet and simple rhyme. 

I love thee, — thus I say thee ; 
And more than earth or space or time 

Those honest tones will weigh thee. 



L.otC. 



100 



T ORDERED thy dear death, dear Lady Vic: 
1 Beside thy lowly painful bed 
I knelt to kiss thy face and head ; 
And thy soft eye, 
That ne'er did spy 
At me but with sweet meekness, 
Then looked with greater meekness, 
Even with dying meekness. 
My Lady Vic. 

I think fond Nature, gentle Lady Vic, 
Did frame thee, dear, for her own sake, 
To prove she could conceive and make, 
In gentle mold 
Still gentler souled, 
A tenderness of sweetness, 
A pure and perfect sweetness, 
A loving patient sweetness, 
My Lady Vic. 

Isaiah v. i. For charity, kindness, and that they over- 
hear not, I ask those who can not love a dog, or think 
they can 

" tell by weight how large a brain 
Hath any hope of Heaven," 
to pass this song. For who would speak his heart about 
a "rare and radiant" being to them who see in her only 
a common and trifling mortality? For myself, I never 
knew a being, speaking or unspeaking, more absolutely 
lovable, more tender, pathetic, sweeter with humility or 
lovelier with proud animation, or more beautiful withal 
in form, color, motion, and every grace of body. She 
was created to show what manners pure sweetness and 
gentleness of spirit could reach unto, and what form 
huild around itself, to be a Collie. 



101 

I think fond Nature, gentle Lady Vic, 
Of purpose gave not thee to speak, 
So tender made, and bravely meek, 
Lest thy sweet fame 
Should too much shame 
Our prides and selfishnesses, 
Our dreary selfishnesses, 
Our wicked selfishnesses. 
My Lady Vic. 

To live with or to die with, Lady Vic, 
I wish me no religion purer. 
More hallowed, selfless, humbler, surer. 
Than in thy heart 
Filled all thy part 
To us with dear affection. 
With pathos of affection, 
A worship in affection, 
My Lady Vic. 

And this I know full well, dear Lady Vic, 
Thy sweetness I shall not forget,— 
By which I think I shall be let 
To see again 
Thy sweet soul, when 
Pain shall be fled forever, 
And love go on forever, 
And last be first forever, 
My Lady Vic. 



102 



TIRED— tired— tired now. 
Let me rest me by thine arm, my dear : 
Soon — soon — soon refreshed, 
I will run, will fly away from here." 

' Rest, — rest — rest now. 

Come, my love, my own, my sweet, my fair 

Lean — lean — lean a-heart ; 

But I '11 never let thee go from there." 



It is not often that a rest of a whole measure is a 
part of the rhythm of the lines of a song; but why not, 
if the sentiment make the pauses significant? It is still 
more unusual to combine such whole-measure rests with 
measures of one note or articulation; but why not, if the 
syllables enable the voice to linger and dwell as is need- 
ful? This song must be read with both these features, 
if the rhythmical time is to be observed, as follows: 



f [ r t|r i\! t\r II 



103 



HAPPY is the relish o' the bird, 
Happy the felicitating breeze. 
Happy is the lowing o' the herd, o' the herd, 
Underneath the meadow-dotting trees. 

Willing is the going o' the day, 

Willing is the coming o' the night, 

Willing is the runnel for to stay, for to stay, 

Peeping o'er the sedges for a sight. 

Why the happy relish o' the bird, 

Why felicitation o' the breeze, 

Why the happy lowing o' the herd, o' the herd, 

Underneath the meadow-dotting trees? 

Why the willing going o' the day. 

Why the willing coming o' the night. 

Why the runnel willing for to stay, for to stay, 

Peeping o'er the sedges for a sight? 

Here was the confession o' them both, 

Yester i' the sparkle o' the dew, 

Yester i' the shadows o' their troth, o' their 

troth,— 
And the meadow waiteth them anew, — 



See note and notation of rhythm, p. 71. This song 
has sung itself since the writing of that note. The 
rhythm haunted me, till it occupied the day with a fancy 
and tuned the air to new words for itself. 



104 

Th' runnel and the birdie and the breeze, 

Now a stilly waiting o' them hovers, 

Wi' dignity o' cattle 'neath the trees, 'neath the 

trees, 
Lingering the trysting o' the lovers. 



105 



PRELUDE. 

AT a wedding bright 
Which was all bloom and light, 
A guest unbidden, a canty little bird, 
On a window sill, 
Peeped in with merry will ; 
And this the saucy little lay I heard : 

To-whit chee ! To-whit chee ! 
A-sooth have I a little bride been, 
To-whit chee, to-whit chee, 
A-flitting in the yellow Spring-green. 
To-whit chee ! 



This song sprang from the rhythm of it — see note on 
p. 32. I was humming carelessly a chance melody, what- 
ever happened, when suddenly I felt the beauty of the 
rhythm and motion of the scrap of tune, and wrote it 
down, thus — 









This hovered about me for two or three days, and then 
suddenly there was connected with it the matter of this 
song, which came as a fancy or picture. I saw the lights 
and festal company of a wedding in June, and on the 
sill of an open window sat a small jaunty bird, observ- 
ing the gaieties, and discoursing of them as in the song. 



106 

To-hoot hee ! To-hoot hee ! 
I never made a how-do-do so, 
To-hoot hee, to-hoot hee. 
But took it as the Httle buds blow, 
To-hoot hee ! 

To-hit twee ! To-hit twee ! 
We made a cozy Httle tight nest, 
To-hit twee, to-hit twee, 
A-fitted to my little brown breast. 
To-hit twee ! 

A-choo chee ! A-choo chee ! 
My bonny little lover sweet wooed, 
A-choo chee, a-choo chee. 
Anon we had a little bright brood, 
A-choo chee ! 

To-whit chee ! To-whit chee ! 
An' now we all together glad play, 
To-whit chee, to-whit chee. 
An' this is wedding in the bird way ; 
To-whit chee ! 

After I had written down the bird's discoursing, a friend 
said I ought to make a prelude, to state the scene of the 
bird-song, so that the piece might have enough complete- 
ness of its own to be understood well enough, and con- 
ceived, without this note; and the prelude, said my friend, 
shovild be in a movement quite different from the bird- 
talk. This prelude I wrote, and so the whole came to 
pass. The song should be read obviously according to the 
rhythm noted above. This is in triple time, but very 
different in effect from the common triple rhythms called 
ianib'cs or trochaics, and therefore of some rhythmical 
interest, perhaps, as an example of the great variety of 
which the simple triple time is capable even in verse; for 
in point of motions and rhythms the flexibility of words 
falls far short of that of inarticulate tones. 



107 

To-hoot twee ! To-hoot twee ! 
Together tipple where the dew 's pearled, 
To-hoot twee, to-hoot twee. 
An' this is wedding in the bird world ; 
To-hoot twee ! 

A-choo chee ! A-choo chee ! 
A' true is he to little brown wife, 
A-choo chee, a-choo chee, 
An' this is wedding in the bird life ; 
A-choo chee ! 



108 



LO! LO! 
See the merry breaking o' the day ! 
Where the night-tide flood rolls over, 
Swims and comes yon great gold rover ; 
Lo! Lo! 
See the merry breaking o' the day. 



In double time, and to be read with reference to the 
time of the lines, according to the following rhythm: 



r ^ ir 



nu 


uu 


uu 


uu 


r r 


r r 


mm 


r r 



In this song the rhythm visited me first, and the thought 
followed it after a little, when the mind had grown fa- 
miliar with the rhythm— note p. 32. Whether the rhythm, 
like the prince in the fairy tale, found and awaked for 
itself in some tangled remoteness a natural kin, an in- 
evitably-wedding-it thought-and-feeling, the reader will 
judge. The rhythm is a very beautiful one, at least if I 
may think it so by its effect on me. Whether it came 
in connection with a melody, I can not recall; but if so, 
the chance tune, was no more than an insignificant usher, 
that soon withdrew, and the beauty of the motion re- 
mained alone. 



109 

Lo! Lo! 

See the merry breaking o' the night ! 

What the day's sharp halberd rendeth, 

Night with diamond stitches mendeth ; 

Lo ! Lo ! 

See the merry breaking o' the night. 

Lo! Lo! 

See the merry breaking of a joy ! 

Up from deep heart rapture urges, 

Like as sea-deep torrent surges ; 

Lo ! Lo ! 

See the merry breaking of a joy. 

Lo ! Lo ! 

See the merry breaking of a heart ! 

Lamps are twinkhng, red cups quaffing, 

And — a breaking heart is laughing; 

Lo ! Lo ! 

See the merry breaking of a heart. 



4UL 2i 



iO' 



oi 



JUL 18 1902 

1 our 1 u/JLL U Vw- i I v. 

JUL. 19 1902 



lUL. 24 1902 



LIBRARY OF 



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